Pirates: The Garden of Immortality
by LadySparrow01
Summary: At this point, she had stolen enough from her family to be considered a thief. So why call taking the small ship anything other than 'commandeering.' She was, after all, a Pirate. And she was on a quest. Third installment. Follows "Pirates: The Golden Masque." Takes place before "Curse of the Black Pearl."
1. Part 1

***Oi! Have you read Book One? Have you read Book Two? If not go and do so right now! Go on! Go and read Pirates: Welcome to Tortuga, and Pirates: The Golden Masque... or else this wont make much sense.***

Pirates:

The Garden of Immortality

(A _Pirates of the Caribbean _Short Story)

By: Lady Sparrow

At night, out in the middle of the Caribbean, the sky and the sea meld together. When standing on a spit of land, it could be said that there wasn't a horizon at all. The island seems to be the only source of life in a never ending dark void. That is, of course, until the clouds break and the splattering of stars could be seen. Their light would be enough to guide any wanderer as though they traveled through the day. On such an island, which sat in the midst of a blackened ocean, on such an evening when the stars could be seen, was a large house. It's occupants, on such a fine and calm night, were all sound asleep or else otherwise engaged in late-hour activities. All, save one.

Emera Flint hurriedly picked her way down the sandy little hill that lead away from her father's house. Her goal was the shabby dock not fifty paces down the beach from where she was. There, tethered safely in place, was the small sailing dinghy, _The Scurvy Servant_, that she planned to commandeer. The young sailor supposed that 'commandeer' wasn't exactly the right word considering that, technically, the boat belonged to her in the first place. But it added a sense of excitement to her clandestine departure. The sack she lugged over her shoulder was weighed down with supplies she had nicked from the pantry, and tucked into her belt were the sea charts she had taken from her father's study. At this point, she had stolen enough from her family to be considered a thief. So why call taking the small ship anything other than 'commandeering.' She was, after all, a Pirate. And she was on a quest.

Three days ago, Emera had received a disturbing message. It had been scrawled across the surface of her bedroom mirror with a stick of her own kohl. The note read:

_You took something of mine, and so I've taken something of yours. If you want him back... then come and get him._

_- Caroline._

The words were burned into Emera's mind the moment she read them, for they could only have one possible meaning. Caroline had somehow taken Emera's friend, Jack Sparrow. The first time Emera met this woman was less than a week ago. The young sailor had once again been caught up in one of Jack Sparrow's adventures, this time in the form of a Masquerade robbery rather than their previously casual commandeering of She-Pirate's ship. As is the nature of such outings, it had gone to pot incredibly quickly. Their intention had been to steal a Golden Peacock Mask and Caroline had shared that goal. In the heat of a fist fight, Emera was able to snatch the Mask, but later turned it over to Jack. That was something Caroline didn't know. The woman must have believed that Emera still had it. And she wanted it in exchange for Jack. How she had gotten into the young sailor's bedroom to leave the message in the first place was a mystery that sent chills down her back. Somehow Caroline had figured out where Emera lived. Somehow she had tracked down Flint's Island, a place that wasn't marked on any sea chart or map.

Emera jogged the last few paces to the docks. Although she was now well out of sight from the house, she couldn't shake the feeling that she might be spotted. Escaping the building had been an adventure in of itself. The old house was weather worn and well traveled by its occupants, thus making the floorboards loose and creaky. Even on bare feet with her boots under one arm, she had made far too much noise. It was a blessing that she hadn't woken anyone. Now, as she packed her supplies into the dinghy and made ready to sail, it felt far too quiet. The young sailor scratched absentmindedly at the scar across her left palm. A souvenir from her first adventure with Jack. Itching at the rough mark had become an unfortunate habit of hers. She often found herself at it when uncomfortable or when thinking of Jack which, incidentally, made her uncomfortable.

She tried to keep her mind off of him when she shoved off from the dock. But lately Jack had been finding a way to creep into her thoughts no matter how much Emera focused on other things. In fact, he had been freely waltzing around her mind since the first moment they met. It had just taken her a painfully long while to realize it. The hold that man had on her was something she had only ever read about in books and seen from time to time in her travels. She had never, not once in her life, thought it could happen to her. When she was a child, she had mused at the idea of one day falling in love. But as she grew, so did her knowledge and understanding of the type of men she lived around. As a young woman, she had conviction in her resolution that seafaring men where harsh, callus, boorish folk. Of course there was no denying that occasionally a man of finer character could be found. Her own father was an example of that. However Emera had decided that, on a whole, Pirates were not the sort of men anyone should fall in love with.

But then she met Jack Sparrow.

And all at once everything changed. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. Yes, he was still a gicky, craggy, loutish rouge who's knowledge of personal hygiene could be used as a yardstick to measure his understanding of personal space. Yes, he was a black-hearted Pirate who valued material goods over his own safety, not to mention the safety of others. And yes, often times he seemed to be lacking the few key components that made up a sane mind. But he was also an enchanting, charismatic, eloquent individual who understood that a ship was not just a means of travel but was instead the very essence of freedom. He had a certain, almost fearless, disregard for the rules which set him miles apart from common folk. And although he seemed unstable in his thoughts, he had been blessed with the ability to orchestrate chaos while simultaneously working towards a larger final-goal. He was a Pirate and an explorer and a storyteller and a good man. But more than anything else, he was himself. And he was the only person that was cut out for the job of being Jack Sparrow.

That was the reason why he had a hold on Emera's heart. It was also the reason why she was blindly charging to his rescue in the middle of the night. Settled in beside the tiller, the young sailor navigated away from Flint's Island. Thankfully the sea was calm and a steady wind had already caught her sails. She checked her shabby little compass, then glanced down at the charts she had taken. With a shove of the tiller Emera corrected her coarse, causing the boom to swing across to the other side of the mast as she came-about. Now with the nose of her ship pointing East she was headed the right direction. She wasn't sure how long it would take to reach her destination. She only knew that her venture would take her straight into the heart of the Bermuda Triangle.


	2. Part 2

Navigating the ocean in a boat, no longer than one is tall, is a danger in of itself. Sailing that tiny vessel at night is madness. But neither of those things could compare to the fact that Emera was willingly entering the Bermuda Triangle. The legends of the Triangle had been whispered among Pirate-kind for as long as Emera could remember. Countless vessels had been lost within the mysterious stretch of ocean, never to be seen again. Other ships that had ventured along the Triangle's outer edges brought back stories of strange happenings and wild encounters. Their crewmen would swear up, down, left and right that some sort of supernatural force was at play. Emera had heard stories of sea monsters, mermaids, freak-storms and even spectacular God-like beings. She didn't know what she believed. All she knew was that over the years, the stories and the facts had become so blended that they were completely indiscernible from one another.

As rash as setting out on her own seemed, the young sailor had taken some precautions before her venture. The night she discovered Caroline's message, Emera sought out the advice of a man who had seen firsthand what lay within the Triangles borders. Emmet Hold or 'Cookie' as he was affectionately called, was that man. He had sailed with Emera's father since the two of them had served in the English Navy. The strange wonders that they had seen together numbered many and included events of the supernatural and other-worldly. Cookie knew more about the Bermuda Triangle than anyone else Emera knew. Unfortunately, he also knew Emera as well as her own father did. And although he answered her every question with a smile, it was clear that he could tell something was afoot.

Even still, he concluded their chat by saying, "I've no idea what yer up t', Me-Emmy. But if the Triangle's involved than ya best rethink yer venture."

Now, as Emera entered deeper into the dark waters, she half wished that she had listened to her old friend. If she had she would be safe at home instead of venturing out into the open ocean. Inky black waves rocked the tiny dinghy back and forth as they lapped against the small vessel. Above, the sky was clear and seemed to have been flooded with the entirety of the heavens. Emera took it as a good omen. She would be able to navigate better with the aid of the stars. It was her specialty. Modern tools like charts, compasses and sextants were useful, but the young sailor always had more luck when using the stars. It took her a while before she found the north star among the vast stretch of others. When Emera did, however, she didn't lose sight of it again. The trick was one she had used many times before. Finding her way was a simple matter of aliening her charts so that north on the parchment faced north in the sky. From there the young sailor could ensure that she was traveling along the right path. It wasn't an overly complicated procedure and in truth it was the one she used when navigating aboard her father's ship. On _The Rose _Emera held the rank of Sailing Master, meaning that her soul duty (other than managing a watch here and there) was to navigate the ship. And over the years she had become rather good at it. As rubbish as she was at remembering landmarks, she was brilliant when she had a map. All she needed to find her way was a few charts and a clear view of the north star.

There was a strange sense of liberation that came from putting distance between herself and Flint's Island. The farther out she went, the more she felt it. Aside from the time she had stolen a boat and sailed out of Tortuga's harbor, Emera had only ever manned her father's ship. Now, she was her own Captain. There was no one to tell her what to do or where to go. She was finally free. And freedom had a flavor she was sure would become addicting. The sea had never smelt sweeter, the stars had never shone brighter, the wind...

_The wind_. Emera furrowed her brow a little and glanced up at the dinghy's sails. The fabric there hung slack from its rigging. Not good. The young sailor stuck a finger in her mouth, wetting it with her spit before holding it out in front of her. She waved it every direction but there was nothing. Not a breeze, or a whisper, or even a tremor of wind. It had dropped off so suddenly it was reminiscent of a window being shut against a gale. Every seafaring soul knew that above all else _wind_ had the most power over their lives. Without it, ships were stranded out in the middle of nowhere without a hope of movement. Just as Emera was stranded now. She was able to drift for a ways with the momentum she had. But it didn't last long. After a while Emera's boat slowed to a standstill. There wasn't even a wave to ride. The water had become smooth and glassy, reflecting the starry sky above so that the sea and the heavens blended together. For the life of her, she couldn't tell where the horizon was. The young sailor was lost in an ocean of stars.

Emera had learned at a very young age that a Pirate was nothing if not resourceful. Quite simply, they had to be. If one couldn't problem-solve on the go, then one was doomed to an ill fate. Her first thought was to check the small hold at the bow of the ship for an oar. She cracked open the small compartment, unceremoniously ripping the covering away. It was too dark to see inside but the air smelt stale and faintly of mold. She groped around blindly, trying to find something useful. The only items stored there was a coil of rotten rope and a bailing bucket. Not an oar in sight.

"Of course not. Why would there be an oar? It's not like it would come in handy or anything if, oh I dunno, the wind suddenly died out... _Bugger!_" Emera sighed as she leaned back against the mast in defeat, her foot knocking the bucket as she settled, "Well, at least I'll be sorted if I suddenly start t' take on water."

She stared at the old wooden container for only a moment before an idea struck her. A second later Emera was leaning over the side of the dinghy, using the bucket as a paddle. She scooped it through the water along one edge of the boat before throwing herself across to the other side to repeat the action. Slowly but surely, she _The Scurvy Servant _began to move forward. The little vessel rocked violently from port to starboard as Emera flung herself from side to side. When the boat threatened to capsize for the third time in thirty minutes, the young sailor thought better of her plan. She slumped back into the boat, laying stretched out along its belly. Her arms felt limp from the effort of hauling water and were soaked through up to her elbows. It had been a good plan, but it would be impossible to keep at it. So instead she let herself drift until the little boat had no more momentum.

Emera laid in the bottom of the dinghy, looking up at the stars. It felt strange to be in a boat that wasn't moving. She had been stranded without wind before, but the lack of waves was unsettling. Normally when her father's ship lost the wind she would pass the time by completing her duties and sleeping. In a small, one person dinghy there were no duties to compete. And without the usual wave educed rocking, she doubted she'd be able to fall asleep. Not to mention she was beginning to feel land-sick. Her stomach tended to churn without the rhythm of the ocean. She tried to take her mind off of it by counting stars. Surprisingly enough, tallying the heavens had the same effect on her as waves. Before long she was dozing off and found herself hoping, wearily before falling asleep, that Jack would be alright.

A blinding light woke Emera sometime after. She stirred groggily and shielded her eyes with one arm. As it turned out, the light was nothing other than the sun. It scorched the sky and reflected off the sea, washing out the colour until everything looked unnaturally pale. The young sailor squinted up at the sail, it fluttered slightly with a breeze that she could only just feel on her skin. It was little more than a pathetic breath, but at least it was better than nothing at all. The dinghy glided smoothly across the still water at an ambling pace. Emera rubbed the sleep from her eyes, astonished that she had slept for so long. When she had passed out it couldn't have been very late. Now it was as bright as midday. She shielded her eyes again and squinted at the sky. The sun sat directly over head, beating down on the little dinghy without remorse. It made the air uncomfortably humid and sticky.

Emera rooted through her supplies, looking for the water she had brought with her. When she found it she drank more than she probably should have. But even then it wasn't enough to quench her thirst. It felt as though she had had a mouthful of sand at one point. No matter how much she drank she still felt parched. She sat braced against the mast, too hot to move or even think. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, drifting aimlessly, but it felt as though it had been hours. And still, the sun was in the exact same position as when she first woke. High noon. She didn't know if the heat was making her delirious or if the Triangle was messing with the ordinary flow of time. All she knew was that her skin hurt and that she was too exhausted to ponder the workings of the Triangle. So she leaned there, allowing herself to cook while she drifted in and out of sleep.

"Emera." A familiar voice came from in front of her, "Em, wake up."

The young sailor opened her eyes. They ached from the glaring light that still washed out her surroundings. It was a moment before her vision cleared and she could bring the dinghy into focus. And when she saw who was sitting across from her, she could hardly believe her burning eyes.

"Jack?" She choked out, her voice rough and dry, "Jack, how did you...?"

He at the bow of the dinghy, his elbows braced on his knees and his hands steepled in front of his lips, making him look as though he was in prayer. He looked exactly as he had the last time she'd seen him. His wild hair and shabby clothes as eccentric as ever. He stared at her, his dark eyes locked onto her face. He looked... worried, concerned, as he took her in.

"That's not important, Love." He told her, his gaze never wavering, "What's important now is that you get out of here."

"What?" She blinked at him and rubbed at her stinging eyes.

"You're in grave danger, Love." He leaned forwards and took her hands in his, "You can't stay here."

"But how am I supposed t' do that?" Emera looked behind herself at the mast, "There isn't any wind."

"Isn't there?" Jack furrowed his brow at her.

The moment he said it, there was a sudden gale. It whipped past Emera, tugging at her bangs and clothes. She glanced at the mast again. The sail was as flat as it had been the night before but there was a strong wind sure and clear. Emera shook her head, trying to understand what was happening.

"I don't understand..." She shook her head again, "Jack, what's going on?"

"It's the Triangle, Darling." He told her, "Things don't work the way they ought to in here. It's playing with your head. Muddling you up. I'm not even really here. Your imagination is producing some rather impressive figments."

"What are ya talking about?" She didn't understand, she could hear what he was saying but for some reason she couldn't comprehend it.

He gripped her shoulders tightly, "Wake up, Emera! If your life means anything to you, you'll wake up!"

Emera opened her eyes. The sea was writhing around her and a strong gale had taken charge of her sails. Dark clouds covered the sky and cast icy rain down on her. She was all alone in the middle of a storm. She leapt into action, attempting to gain control of her dinghy. Taking up the tiller she forced the small boat to work with the wind instead of against it. But the waves were so intense that it made any action she took superfluous. She shouted and cursed in frustration. One moment she had been dying of heat exposure and the next she was liable to drown. Her pathetic little dinghy was tossed violently by the massive ocean waves. From a large ship like Captain Flint's _Rose_, one didn't always notice the pounding sea. The large Schooner had the ability to take a lot of punishment. It cut through harsh waves as easily as it would glide across a calm bay. _The Scurvy Servant _however_,_ being only a miniscule boat, was left to the ocean's mercy. The vessel's wood frame creaked threateningly as it was thrown about in the water. Waves that would have seemed inconsequential from _The Rose's _deck now loomed over Emera, towering like inky black liquid mountains. They would suck up the little dinghy, dragging the ship up their massive slopes to the crest of the waves. Then they would drop her back down the other side at such a speed that she had to brace herself within the bottom of her boat to keep from being thrown astray. The nose of the dinghy would dig into the sea when it met the gullies that lay between waves. Water began pooling in the boat faster than Emera could bail it out, but even that was the least of her worries compared to what lay just ahead.

As the tiny boat reached the crest of another wave, Emera was able to sit up long enough to see what she was truly dealing with. Brewing before her in shades of grey and sea-green was a colossal hurricane cloud. The awe-inspiring behemoth before her swirled visibly with the force of the wind generating it. Wind so strong that it tore _The Scurvy Servant's _sails clean from her rigging. The naked vessel plummeted back towards a gully and Emera's view of the hurricane was blocked out by the next monstrous wave. The hurricane raged directly overhead now. The young sailor desperately braced herself against the sides of her boat, her numb and waterlogged limbs struggling to muster the strength needed to keep her in place. With another violent roll the next wave scooped her up in its watery hold. She thought she might have let out a scream but she couldn't be sure. Her voice was lost somewhere among the howling winds, turbulent waves and explosions of thunder. Just when Emera was certain it couldn't get any worse, the ocean broke apart in a furry of water. Out from the very depths of Hell breached a beast the likes of which she had only ever read about.

The Leviathan.


	3. Part 3

The Leviathan was a colossal serpent far larger than any ship Emera had ever seen. It let loose an Earth rattling roar as it threw back it's fearsome head. Like a shark, the creature had a mouth that consisted of multiple rows of razor teeth. Great fans of flesh and bone crowned it's head in the same way a Dragon's might. Emera could only stare as frozen terror flooded her veins. And the creature stared back with two sets of great, golden eyes. If she hadn't been so horrified, the young sailor probably would have thought the Leviathan's eyes looked like those of a snake. They had the same, narrowly sliced pupils that seemed to stare straight through their pray. Of course, Emera had never seen a snake with four eyes before. The creature's were arranged one set above the other, the eyes on top being slightly smaller. Even still, they were bigger than the young sailor and her dinghy combined. The great beast stared at her as though it was looking directly into her soul. And then, it let out another cry.

Emera had never heard the sound of a million horrified screams, but she was certain that it sounded exactly like the noise that came out of the Leviathan. She clamped her hands over her ears and dropped into the belly of her boat as the sound ripped past her. It made her teeth rattle and her bones quiver with its sheer force. Then, the beast lunged at the dinghy. It plowed into the water, it's massive body creating a tsunami as it dove. No power in this life or the next could have saved the little dinghy. Its poor body simply couldn't take the punishment. The boat seemed to burst all at once as it was flung by the water. Its seams bust open and abandoned Emera into the waves. The ocean writhed around her, pushing and pulling her body in directions she didn't understand. One moment she was above the surface and the next she was below. She clawed against the water but no matter how hard she fought it was no use. Her limp body was powerless against the force of the sea. She had become disoriented very quickly. And she had no idea where the Leviathan was.

As fortune should have it, however, Emera was sucked up by the pull of a particularly strong wave. She managed to break the surface long enough to land hold of some floating debris (all that was left of _The Scurvy Servant_.) Now that she was buoyant again, the young sailor filled her lungs with air as though it was the last chance she would get. Heart pounding and eyes burning from a combination of past sun and current sea salt, Emera desperately tried to looked around. All around her was nothing but a swirling mass of grey ocean. Getting her barring would be impossible. With no other choice, she held fast to her plank of wood, hoping beyond hope that she would somehow make it out alive.

Emera had heard stories claiming that when someone was about to die (or was in a near-death situation) they would see their life flash before their eyes. They would see everything in that vision, starting from the moment they were born until the moment their souls left their bodies, as though they were reading a book impossibly fast. Or, perhaps, it was more like they were watching a play of their own lives in which the actors moved with God-like speed and all the scenes took less time than a blink to perform. Neither of those things happened to Emera as she held fast to her bit of debris. No, there was no lightning fast recap of her twenty-some years on Earth. Instead, it felt as though time itself had stopped. It seemed to her that she had always been fighting for her life in that storm. She could hardly remember a time when she hadn't. She didn't think about all the things she had done in her life time. Instead she found herself thinking about all the things she would never do. All the places she would never see. All the people she would never speak to again.

Even if her father found the note explaining why she had gone, Emera would never be able to tell him herself. Her father, stepmother and siblings would never know what they truly meant to her. Cookie would never know how much she valued his advice and Kay, her best friend in all the world, would never understand how much she had changed her life. As Emera waited for death either by storm or sea-beast, she realized that the people most important to her would never know that she loved them... _Jack_ would _never_ know...

She hadn't even had the chance to tell him the truth.

Emera, exhausted from the constant battery of the waves and frozen to her core, could barely hang on to her miserable plank of wood. As her vision began to blur she caught a glimpse of what she thought was either sunlight or the Leviathan's golden eyes. Then, everything went black again and her body finally gave in to the raging waves around her.

The first thing Emera noticed when she came-to was how bright it was again. She groggily squinted against the harsh sunlight, half hoping to be back in the dinghy without a whisper of wind. At least then the storm and Leviathan would have been nothing more than a heat induced nightmare. She wasn't that lucky. The sun was gleaming off of the white sand that Emera was stomach down in. The young sailor slowly pushed herself up onto her forearms, looking around. She was stretched out in the middle of a long beach. To her right, the sea lapped calmly against the shore in the rhythmic pattern of gentle, shallow, waves. To her left, the Earth rose up into a sharp, rocky, cliff-face which circled around in front of her until it gave way to a jungle. Above the sky was clear and dazzling blue. Emera turned to look back out across the ocean. Miles away a ring of dark clouds and storming ocean circled round the shore. Wherever she was, it was in the eye of that hurricane.

Emera clutched at her chest a little, looking for something to assure herself that she wasn't dead. Somehow, she had survived that storm and managed to make it to shore. She ran her hands through her short hair and let out a few sighs of relief. It was remarkable to think that she had survived a hurricane and the Leviathan. In fact, it was beyond remarkable. It was an insane amount of good fortune. The young sailor was so relieved she couldn't help but break into hysterics. Concurring death had a way of getting to her in a way no amount of alcohol or treasure could. She lay on the beach for a while, laughing like a mad-woman to herself. But her bliss quickly died down into wracking sobs. She laid there in the sand for a while, crying harder than she had in a long time. She hated herself for it but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. Even though there was no one around Emera buried her face into the crook of her elbow.

It was quite some time before she had gathered her wits again. She sat up while wiping the tears from her eyes, frustrated. They still stung something awful and her skin hurt too. The young sailor looked down at her arms. Her usually tanned skin was scarlet. Cooked, Emera guessed, from her hours of laying in the sun. Luckily the burn was limited to her arms, face and neck. The rest of her body had been protected by her shirt and trousers. As fortunate as that was, it didn't change the fact that she was thirsty, tired and in a great deal of pain. Knowing that she couldn't stay out on the exposed beach, she got to her feet. Her legs wobbled, unsteady on the solid ground. Her stomach did a few flips as she found her footing. More land-sickness. And this time she didn't have the will to fight it. Stumbling into the jungle, Emera bent double and was sick into the underbrush for several minutes. Even after there was nothing left to be-rid of, her stomach lurched violently. The involuntary action left her shaking with the taste of acid heavy in her mouth. Emera wiped at her lips with her sleeve as she scooted away from where she had expelled the contents of her stomach. It certainly was turning out to be one Hell of a day.

The idea of trudging through the jungle wasn't one Emera was particularly keen on. But she knew that if she didn't get some fresh water into her and soon, she would be done for. And so she set off into the thick forest. Everything within its stretch was tinted green by the light filtering through the tick canopy above. Emera had been in many a jungle before so she was no stranger to bushwhacking, wildlife or even bug bites. But this jungles was the likes of which she had never seen before. Bizarre plant life that she couldn't identify and animal calls she had never heard surrounded her in every possible direction. The foliage was somehow _too_ green. The flowers she passed were explosions of abnormal colour combinations. Reds and blues and yellows and pinks all splattered across petals like a painting that had gone wrong. And what was more, some of the plant life wasn't plant life at all. As she walked, the young sailor would duck past a bush or groupings of flowers that suddenly burst to life in the form of peculiar birds of odd rodents. What she had thought to be a moss covered rock turned out to be a giant tortoise. And what she assumed was the bark of a tree became dozens of swarming insects. Whatever this place was, it wasn't like anywhere Emera had ever been.

She had been trekking around the jungle for who knows how long, and still there wasn't a stream or pond in sight. The young sailor slumped down against the trunk of a tree to catch her breath. The heat was immense, just as it had been earlier, and the humidity was making the air thick. It was hard to force it down into her lungs. She took deep, labored breaths as she sat there, trying to plot out the course she would take. So far Emera had been traveling in what she thought was a straight line. Of course there would be no way of telling if that were true. She had lost her compass when she had lost her boat and there wasn't any point in using the sun to navigate. Even though it had been many long hours since day break, the sun was still directly over head. A constant, never changing nor wavering, high noon.

Hot and frustrated Emera pulled off her waistcoat and collared shirt, leaving her clad in her sleeveless underbodice. It was a relief to shed down to only one layer. As the young sailor wedged her stripped clothing into the gap between her hip and belt, she thought of all the proper young ladies she had seen in dresses of multiple layers. She had always felt sorry for them, walking around in such heavy fabrics, no doubt sweating and feeling faint all the time. Emera had experienced that briefly the last time she had seen Jack. She didn't miss it. No, she preferred the men's clothing she typically wore. They were no were near as fine or elegant as some of the gowns she had seen while in port. But they served their purpose just fine.

After a while of sitting, Emera had regained enough of her strength to keep going. She hauled herself to her feet and was just deciding which way she should go when she heard the distinct sound of someone talking. It was coming from somewhere off to her right, but she couldn't make out who it was. Hope leapt in her chest, fluttering around in her rib cage like a small bird.

"Jack?" She called out, her voice rough and dry, "Jack Sparrow!"

Emera hugged her tree, waiting for some kind of response. She held her breath as she strained to hear more. After a moment there was the faint rumbling of a reply. She couldn't make out what the voice had said, but she was certain it had been Jack's. The young sailor pushed away from the tree and ran off towards the voice. Crashing through the underbrush and leaping over branches and logs, Emera called out again.

"Jack?!" She cried.

"Emera?!" Came his voice loudly from somewhere in front of her, "Emera! What the bloody Hell are you doing here?!"

She flew out of the thicket, finding herself in a small clearing. And there, on the opposite side, was Jack Sparrow. He looked just as she remembered him. His wild hair and shabby clothes as eccentric as ever. He stared at her, his dark eyes locked onto her face, a mix of shock and joy in his expression. Emera, feeling a peculiar lightness in her chest, couldn't stop herself from running across the clearing and into his arms.

"Jack! I'm so glad t' see you!" She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"As am I, Love." He hugged her back, laughing gently, "You look ruddy terrible."

"It's been a long trip." She explained into the crook of his neck, feeling as though she might burst into tears for no reason at all.

"And you smell funny." He remarked.

"So do you." She rolled her eyes but smiled as she took in the comforting scent of sweat, sea-salt and alcohol that clung to his skin.

"What are you _doing_ here?" He asked, "Last I recall, you and I parted ways on good terms. How is it you've tracked me down?"

Emera pulled away a little so she could see his face, "I'm here t' rescue you."

"_Rescue_ me?" He raised an eyebrow at her, "What, pray tell, do I need rescuing from, Love?"

She furrowed her brow, "I'm here t' save ya from that kidnapping gilflurt, Caroli- "

"I hate to break up this adorable little reunion," Came a voice like smooth silk, "but we really must push on."

The young sailor looked passed Jack's shoulder to confirm what she suspected. Sure enough, leaning causally against a tree with a cool and unimpressed smirk on her face, was Caroline.

"So glad you could join us, Miss Flint." Caroline greeted her in a smooth drawl.

"_Bugger._" Emera swore under her breath.


	4. Part 4

***I just want to quickly apologize for how long its taken to post this. That gap was ridiculous. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.***

Caroline's ocean blue eyes looked the young sailor up and down a few times, sizing her up steadily. The woman was beyond stunning. The first time Emera had met her, she thought that she looked like something out of a Botticelli painting. Her long golden hair, which was pulled back from her face by a rich silk scarf, fell to the center of her shoulder blades in loose curls. Her skin was flawless and pale, like smooth porcelain. The only difference in her now was the way she was dressed. She wore snug fitting, light coloured, slacks and a pale corset. An outfit which didn't leave much to the imagination. It accentuated her full, curved figure in a way that her ball gown in their previous encounter had not. Once again, however, all the colours she wore worked to highlight those strange eyes of hers. It was as though she was wearing the ocean itself. And Lord, how Emera hated her.

Still hanging from around Jack's neck, she was quick to react. Emera seized the pistol he kept tucked into the sash around his waist and aimed it over his shoulder at Caroline. Jack let out a surprised 'Oi' that the young sailor ignored. The woman only smiled at Emera, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Really, Miss Flint? A gun? I had rather hoped our second meeting wouldn't be so... hostile." Caroline tilted her head to one side, feigning disappointment, "Shame. And to think, you had such perfect manners when we were first introduced. Funny how a little squabble over a silly old trinket can ruin the potential for what I'm certain would have been a beautiful friendship."

Emera only glanced at Jack, her eyes flickering over his face in search of an answer that wasn't there.

In a low voice he said, "_Please_... don't do anything _stupid_."

"Look," Caroline chimed, "I know perfectly well that you're upset about what happened between us at the party. I admit that I tried to drown you... and have you arrested. But in all fairness you _did_ elbowed me in the mouth at one point and, if I remember correctly, pulled my hair. I'm willing to call it even if you are, Emera."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shoot ya?" Emera glared at her and pulled back the pistol's hammer with her thumb.

Jack made a whining noise in the back of his throat.

Caroline took a step forward, "Well, if you shoot me then there really isn't any way for you or dear old Jack to enter the Garden of the Hesperides, now is there? No. It takes a very... particular... type of person to open those gates. Key, or no."

She plucked a long, golden item from the chest of her corset. Emera recognized it at once as the central feather from the Golden Peacock Mask. The one that was said to be a key to Hera's Orchard. Caroline flashed the key at Emera before she grinned and returned it to her hiding place.

"And believe me, your Darling Jack really, _really_, wants to see that Orchard. Don't you Jack? So much so that you were willing to drop everything and help me out. He really is such a gentlemen. I can see why you like him so much, Emera." Caroline smiled.

Emera kept her eyes and the gun locked onto Caroline as she spoke. The woman took a few more steps forward until she was standing point-blank with the pistol. She didn't even bother looking at it. In all the time that she had been speaking, her vivid blue eyes had never left Emera's. She was like a marble statue of old. Calm and unimpressed.

"Jack, Dearest, why don't you calm down your little sweetheart there and talk her through what we agreed upon. It's just occurred to me that I left the boys back by the stream and if I don't see to them they're liable to wander off." Caroline waved over her shoulder as she turned and walked away.

Emera watched the woman until she could no longer see her. Then the young sailor's body went lax. She let her arm drop to her side, the gun suddenly very heavy. Jack calmly wrapped his fingers around her hand and pried the pistol from her grasp. She relinquished the weapon without argument. He watched her face with hard, calculating eyes as he tucked the gun back into his belt. She was tempted to snap a bitter 'What?' but couldn't. She was far too tired for an argument.

"No matter the severity of the circumstances we might be under," Jack started in an irritated voice, "you may _never_ take hold of this pistol. Understand? This shot is not meant for Caroline nor anyone you know. And it bloody-well isn't yours to fire. I'll excuse this blatant act of treason on the account that you are clearly impaired at the moment, thus making you incapable of better judgment, savvy?"

"Savvy." She agreed.

Emera teetered on her feet dangerously as exhaustion caught up with her. Her knees gave out suddenly and her legs crumbled beneath her own weight. Ever the quick to react, Jack caught her in his arms, helping to ease her to the ground. The long grass was soft beneath her as she sat there. Glancing down at her palms she noticed that her hands had begun to tremble again.

"What happened to you, Emera?" Jack shook his head as he studied her.

She rubbed at her still aching eyes, "It was a rough trip... t' say the least."

"Hmm..." He nodded and looked around himself, "That dead spot on the edge of the Triangle is a world of trouble. You've been burnt rather badly, Love."

"How'd ya get through it?" Emera asked him as he reached into the fabric bag slung across his shoulder.

Jack shrugged, a knowing gleam in his eye, and handed her a leather water-skin, "Sea Turtles, Mate."

If Emera had had the energy she would have shoved him.

Instead she drank from the water-skin, grateful for its cool contents, "Of course. Sea Turtles. Did you rope these ones too? Use them t' pull yer boat along?"

"Aye." He nodded, as he snapped a few tendrils from a nearby plant and crushed a green liquid out of them, "Surprisingly fast, those little devils."

She couldn't help but laugh, "I've missed yer sense of humor, Jackie. What... what, exactly, is it yer doing with those?"

"That," He raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the bizarre plant with a nod, "is an Aloe Africana plant. I'd recognize it anywhere. The mush inside works wonders on burns. Now, hold still."

Before Emera could blink he was applying the strange liquid to her face. She had expected it to hurt but was surprised by its remarkably cooling touch. It soothed her complaining skin, seeming to absorbed the ache. Jack worked his way over her features, down her neck and across her shoulders. His hands were rough from a life time at sea, but his touch was light. Almost cautious. It didn't take him long to start on her arms. And when he had finished, Emera was astonished to see that the plant had even worked to fade the redness of her burn some. Her arms still looked burnt, but nowhere near as badly as before. She had gone down at least two shades of red.

"Why have I never heard of this plant before?" She asked as she looked over her arms and hands. They were still trembling slightly.

"It doesn't grow outside of North Africa." Jack smiled at her.

"You've been t' Africa?" Emera couldn't help but get a little excited at the idea.

Jack dropped his gaze, suddenly looking uncomfortable and cleared his throat, "Only once... a lifetime ago."

"Let me guess. It's a story for another time, right?" Emera raised her eyebrows at him.

He cracked a grin and stood up, "Aye. Perhaps."

"Ya know, _one day_ you really will have t' tell me all these things." She took the hand he was offering her.

"_One day_, I will. Promise." He smirked, "But today is not that day, Love."

"Of course not." She sighed, but a smile crept across her face, "Will you at least tell me why yer all chummy with Caroline?"

"Me?" Jack raised an eyebrow at her, "Chummy? Don't be obtuse. I hate everyone. You know that."

"Well then, what's going on?" She took a step towards him, "Because it seemed t' me that the pair of ya are in league with one another. I gave you the Mask. How did Caroline get the Key?"

Jack looked down at her with calculating eyes, as though he were trying to decide whether or not he could trust her. The corner of his mouth twitched a few times as he pondered what to do. Evidently, he settled on trusting her. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

"Caroline spoke true when she said that only a very particular kind of person can open that gate." He explained, "If I want to taste an Apple of Immortality I need her."

"When did you figure that out?" Emera narrowed her eyes.

"Right after we parted ways. There's an inscription on the back of the Key." Jack stepped towards her again, closing the gap between them, "It said that only a son or daughter of the Heathen Gods possesses the power to open the Garden gates."

"The Heathen Gods?" Her eyes widened, "You don't think that - ?"

Jack answered her before she could finish asking, "A Goddess? I don't know. But how would you explain her seeming multitude of watery-based trickery, eh? She did nearly drown us at one point."

"Aye. And _that_ is the exact reason why we need t' get out of here." Emera hissed, "Jack, I don't trust her. She'll kill us. Why else would she want us here, other than t' get revenge for our making off with the Mask?"

"She cannot be using _us_, because _I_ am using _her_. It's simple: She opens the gate, we get inside, we turn on her and before you can say _'Jack yer a genius'_ we've got all the Apples of Immortality that we can eat." One of his hands settled onto her waist, "It's fool proof. Think about it, Love. The two of us, free to sail the open ocean... forever."

"...The two of us?" Emera breathed.

"Trust me, Darling." He smiled down at her, "I've got it all under control."

He winked before walking past her, aimed in the direction Caroline had disappeared, "We should catch up."

"The two of us." She had to blink a few times as his words settled around her, "The _two _of _us_. Why would Caroline want _the two of us_ here?"

Emera turned, following after Jack. She had a mind to question him about it, but was cut off by Caroline and two young men coming through the trees. The men were both tall, broad shouldered and well featured. In fact, they looked so much alike that they could have been one man standing in front of a mirror. Each had the same dark hair and steely eyes. They were identical in every way. Even in dress they were the same, wearing simple clothing of the same colours that Caroline frequented. They were also carrying what looked to be her belongings. The twins, standing just behind Caroline, observed Emera and Jack in silence.

"Ready to depart, I see." Caroline smiled.

With a snap of her fingers she led the group of five off into the jungle. Emera and Jack walked behind Caroline and the twins followed a few steps behind them. The young sailor couldn't help but shoot a few glances over her shoulder. She had never seen a set of twins before, although she had heard about them, and was somewhat fascinated. They didn't seem to pay any attention to her gawking. They walked in time with one another and looked straight ahead at nothing in particular.

"Jack..." Emera started in a low voice, still looking behind herself.

"Caroline's valets." He explained, understanding her question, "An odd pair, at that. They seem to have no other fancy than following Caroline about."

"They're called Didumos." Caroline chimed in without turning round.

"What? Both of you?" Emera asked the twins.

They said nothing. They didn't even look at her.

"Yes." Caroline answered, "Both of them. Emera dear, you really shouldn't bother trying to include them in the conversation. They -"

"Why not?" Emera turned to look at the back of Caroline's golden locks.

The woman laughed, a sound like wind chimes, "Sweetheart, they're both deaf and dumb."

"Oh." Emera tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, unsure of how to reply.

"Don't feel bad. You didn't know. And in any case, what I meant was that I doubt they'll even deign to converse with you, should you try include them. They read lips. So it isn't as though they don't know what you are saying. I just doubt it's of any interest to them. They're a clever pair of boys, aren't you Didumos?" Caroline looked over her shoulder at the twins as she asked the question.

Emera and Jack turned around to see the twins smiling at the woman. Together, in perfect unison, they touched the fingertips of their right hands to their bottom lips. Then they extended those same hands forward, palms up, in the same manner one would offer something. Emera watched the gesture, curious.

"You're very welcome." Caroline replied to the movement with a smile.

Jack turned round with a shrug. Emera couldn't stop staring. The twins were utterly fascinating to her. Jack elbowed her in the ribs and cleared his throat. She realized then that she had been acting rude and idiotic. She turned round quickly, shooting a glance at him as she did so. He gave her a scolding look.

"They're still people, Love." He whispered, leaning in close to her, "Your gawking is only making everyone uncomfortable."

"Sorry." Emera whispered back, feeling incredibly guilty all of a sudden, then she turned round and faced the twins, "Sorry. For staring."

The two looked down at her, then at each other. They made a flurry of gesture with their hands. One would move and the other would respond. It took Emera a moment before she realized that they were speaking to one another. Speaking with their hands. It was a moment before they turned back to look at her. Then, in perfect unison, they gestured to her. Emera could only blink, unsure of what they had said and so helpless to reply.

"They said that they forgive you." Caroline's interpreted for her (apparently she had been watching the whole time,) "Although, they don't know why. They didn't even notice you."

"Oh." Emera rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed by her own behavior.

She shot Jack a glance. His only reply was a small shrug of indifference. The young sailor crossed her arms tightly and set her attention to following Caroline. By this time they were already deep into the heavy jungle. Emera didn't know where they were going, or what dangers might lie ahead. But the twisted feeling in her stomach told her that it wouldn't be good.


End file.
